


sour like spoilt fruit

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I'm not even sure what ship this should be under sorry, M/M, Other, Rape, Violence, this is Meg possessing Sam fucking Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg was not ashamed to admit that she had difficulty keeping rein on the controls for a few days. It was an adjustment period. To feel out his new strengths, the power that thrummed within him, the hunger. There was a brutal barely contained will to violence that spoke to her nature and all Meg wanted to do was to destroy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sour like spoilt fruit

It was a soft rasp of breath, lungs expanding, chest pushing out. The metallic sharp smell of blood in the air. She breathed deep. Held it. Released on an exhale that pushed over her stolen lips. Tongue. Soft wet skin. Rolling a crick in her neck, Meg groaned and took another deep breath. 

Tugging at the ropes around her wrists, snapping them easily with her preternatural strength, she stood and stretched her arms up above her head. Vertebrae popping, back arched, fingers brushing the grimy ceiling. Meg smiled and flexed her fingers, reaching them towards her toes. 

Well. Not her toes. 

The dimensions were a little off. Broad. Tall. There was so much space in here that she felt like an echo, her smoke stretched thin to reach from edge to edge, from his fingertips to his toes. It was warm though. It was powerful. 

Meg licked her lips and hummed contentedly. 

Blunt nails picked at the ragged skin where a tattoo used to sit. Chest bare, smooth flat expanses of tan skin. The blood drying tacky down to the waist of his jeans. Meg ran her fingers through it and brought them to her lips. 

She could feel him. Shuddering within her, within himself. Hidden, tucked away. Ah, it was familiar for the both of them. She rippled through his meatsuit like a mother passing a soothing hand over her ill child’s brow. It was all right. She’d take care of him. Take care of his meatsuit. It was a lovely meatsuit. 

Meg was more comfortable in female bodies. This one felt a little off kilter. But the raw power that burned in his veins. The power that had lain dormant in the back of his mind the first time she had taken up residence here, the power that was unleashed now like a spring time flash flood that overflowed the banks, it was something dark and seductive and glorious. 

_Don’t worry babe, I’m just taking you for a drive._

_Let me go! I swear my brother will find you and he’ll kill you even if he has to take me down with you!_

_We both know he’s not going to hurt you. And I’m not going to hurt him. Lucifer wants Michael to possess him, just as much as I want Lucifer to possess you._

_Even if you’re in me, even if you say yes, that doesn’t count, I have to say yes!_

_Oh you sweet simple boy, I know that. Of course I know that. Like I say. I’m just taking you for a drive._

_What… what do you mean._

_Well. I can’t get rid of your brother, for obvious reasons. But there are other… hinderances, that would make it a little easier on all of us if I just….._

Meg smiled, stolen lips stretching wide, and she pet her fingers over the dimples that marked his cheeks, pushing back through the soft hair that fell over his brow. Oh, they had so much work to do. She was grateful to be chosen for this, to be considered strong enough. Meg would not fail again, not like she had failed Azazel. 

-

She had to admit that he was strong, even if he hadn’t drunken blood recently. So much more than her first tour here, through Sammy land. Of course she knew he would be, he was Lucifer’s vessel, it was his purpose to contain, to house, to support the most powerful creature, father of demons. But to know it theoretically and to experience it viscerally, they were entirely different matters.

Meg was not ashamed to admit that she had difficulty keeping rein on the controls for a few days. It was an adjustment period. To feel out his new strengths, the power that thrummed within him, the hunger. There was a brutal barely contained will to violence that spoke to her nature and all Meg wanted to do was to destroy. 

It was heady. But she had a different purpose here. Dean, they needed him for his own role in destiny. There was another player on the board, a wild card, that Lucifer needed to be eliminated. 

Meg considered calling him down with a spell. A few rare herbs and disgusting ingredients and enochian words chanted through Sam’s vocal cords and she could have the angel trapped in a ring of holy oil. It would be easy. To destroy him them. To snuff him out like she had been ordered. 

There was something else Meg wanted. Something else the meatsuit she rode wanted. She may not have even understood the depths of emotion that her vessel harbored to the angel. But it had been years since she’d been human herself. To crave the pure touch of a thing that would rather burn you out and reduce you to ash, to crave self-destruction, to crave punishment, she didn’t think of these things. 

Meg knew lust. She knew sin. She knew wanting, plenty. She was a creature of greed and avarice after all. But Sam was something other, self destructive righteousness. She may not have counted on that. 

Rather than set a trap that might have been too obvious, Meg turned in to her vessel and searched for something else. Through the writhing mess of Sam’s struggling, she plucked a string of wanting and ran her presence across it. She prayed to the angel, to Castiel, to the Shield of God. 

With Sam’s words, with his longing, she sent the thrumming vibration of prayer  up in to the ether. 

-

He was light and wrath and divine purpose. The will of heaven focused into a creature much too small to contain all the potentiality of his existence that stretched from corner to corner of reality. Castiel. The Shield of God. 

She wanted to smash a sword against him until he cracked and shattered.

Yet he had answered her prayer. Sam’s prayer. Their prayer. 

“You are not Sam.”

She laughed, a sound more rich and deep than she was accustomed to. 

“Oh but I am. At least, he’s around here somewhere.”

He shifted, a glint of silver falling in to his hand, posture tensing and eyes narrowed. 

“What have you done with him?”

“What? With the abomination? With Lucifer’s vessel? The boy king?”

His voice came out sharp and commanding. “What have you done with Sam Winchester?”

Circling around each other, glass and concrete crunching underfoot in the abandoned warehouse, Meg smiled and spread the strong arms of her vessel wide. 

“Well I haven’t really done anything yet.”

He held a palm up high, arm spread wide.

“You gonna burn me out angel? Gonna wreck this pretty pretty face?”

His step faltered minutely, halted and resumed as they circled. Oh, he did care for Sam didn’t he. All the whispers, all the gossip, spoke of his improper affection for the vessel he’d raised from hell and left his mark on. But where there was Dean, there was Sam - the Winchesters, a package deal - and Meg knew that it was hard to separate the two of them. Hard, physically, and mentally. You fall for one, before you know it you’ve got the other. 

The things that she had wanted when she crawled in to Sam’s body the first time - the things that she’d sensed him wanting - it was down right filthy enough to make a demon proud. But now. It was laughable how suiting it was, the vessel of a fallen angel who would lead the armies of Hell, falling for an angel of Heaven who was currently on a path towards hurtling himself down to earth. 

Convoluted. Messy. She liked it. 

“I didn’t think soooo.” 

Meg stopped, crossed her arms over her chest - his chest, damn it was wide - and regarded the angel. 

“You like him don’t you. You want to save him. Redeem him.”

Castiel stopped, his angel blade hanging at his side. The moon light was bright from the cloudless night, slanting in through broken window to stripe blocky across the floor, lighting him up silver and sharp. He tipped his head, scowling. 

“My mission is to protect humans.”

“Don’t lie angel, it doesn’t suit you. You aren’t supposed to protect humans. You are supposed to protect them. The vessels. And do you know why? So they can fulfill the prophecies. You know, that’s all I really want. What we all want. And still you stand in our way. Biblical cock block. You aren’t protecting your mission, you’re protecting the humans you’ve grown too close to.”

His shoulders slump, mouth downturned, before he channels all that rage and naive fury towards her, lunging forward. Meg has gotten to know this vessel, and it is fluid in it’s grace as it dips and ducks, swiveling around and pushing against the angel that has barreled towards them. She feels the blade slash against her forearm, twisting, pivoting around and around, feels it against her side digging and pulls away. Yet he doesn’t go too deep. Pushing her own demonic strength behind it, driving him forward, Meg follows him to the floor. 

Knocking the silver blade to the side, hearing it clatter across the floor, she laughs as she rolls in the dirt with him. This, this is why she loves having a meatsuit, something corporeal and real. There is the scrape of rubble against her neck, her hands, the heat of the angel’s body as she grapples with him. Small, worldly things, the grunt and exhalation as an elbow is pushed against her stomach, the dilation of his eyes and the stretch of his lips wide on a grimace. 

Meg can feel Sam inside her, pushing, pleading. He’s something sour like spoilt fruit trying to turn her stomach and make her heave, make her retch up out of him. There’s a coil of warmth in her belly though, body stirring as it presses against the angel’s vessel. 

Sam’s body is larger than Castiel, were it down to the humans he would trump the shorter man. As it is, with all the extras factored in, Castiel could beat her easily enough. It would however do irreparable damage to Sam. And ah how sweet it is that she was right on her bet that the angel wouldn’t go that far. 

Straddling his wast, broad hands gripping his wrists and pinning them above his head, Meg smiles down at him. Castiel struggles, bares his teeth and growls at her. She can see the flicker of his true form like static, a corona of heavenly intent, but he doesn’t break through to this plane. It would burn her out. He struggles, and contains himself, going slack beneath her. 

“That’s a good angel.”

Wrapping one of Sam’s hands around both his wrists, she moves her free hand down his arms, cups the curve of his face, thumb brushing the stubble of his jaw. 

“What purpose do you even have here?”

She scoffs, “Really? What purpose does a demon have with Lucifer’s vessel?”

His jaw clenches, eyes glaring at her, hips shifting on the hard floor. 

“What purpose, Meg, do you have here with me?”

Settling on his lap a little more comfortably, angling her body down against him to stretch out like a cat in a sunbeam, she’s got what she wants, and she’ll luxuriate in it.

“There’s a few things. Where should I start?”

Dipping her head down, Sam’s hair falling across a cheek softly, she nuzzles against Cas’ face which he turns to the side, pressing lips down his jaw and the length of his neck. 

“I don’t see what purpose this could possibly serve for Lucifer.”

“Mmm, but you know, the great thing about fighting for this side is that you get what you want, you take what you have the strength to take.”

His hips twist under her, legs pushing up trying to buck her off. Meg slams back down on him, fingers tightening around his wrist and she can feel the bone underneath his skin, can feel the quickening pulse in his veins. There’s a widening realization in his eyes. 

“Why…”

The only answer she gives is to rip his shirt apart. Pushing all her demonic strength down on his writhing form, Meg shudders for the feel of Sam in her bubbling with an acerbic sharp hatred. Tearing Castiel’s clothes apart, shirt open, tie hanging, coat ripped, pants ruined, he surges forward and pushes her back. 

Kicking long legs out, digging nails she doesn’t have against his skin, gouging with her teeth where he gets close enough, they twist and roll and struggle against one another again across the hard floor. There’s a sick wet crack of his head against concrete when they run up against the wall and it’s pure luck that it was him and not Meg but she pushes in to the sliver of a fissure of a break to take his momentary distraction and roll him over on to his belly, trapping him down again. 

“You will be one less reason for them to fight, one less agent defying the inevitable, one less thorn in all of our sides!”

She can’t stop laughing, the power in Sam’s body an intoxicating thing, the novelty of pinning an angel down like a butterfly on a collector’s board only he’s surrounded by the dirt and filth of this place, oh it makes her ache. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundis - “

Gripping in to his messy hair, she slams his head against the cracked concrete with a pleasing crunch of bone. 

“Omnis, omnis immundis spiritus, omnis satanica - “

Again, and again, red staining dusty coated gray and spreading like a web out. It doesn’t matter how much he bleeds, she’ll bleed him out by the end. His words falter as she smashes his head down with brutal force. 

“Satanica potestas - “

“Do you know what an insult you are!”

The sound of his grunting is garbled in the pool of blood forming under his face as she slams him down again until his body goes limp. 

“You are the abomination! You decry Lucifer’s mission, his message, yet you take, you rip what he fought so hard for, you claim free will for your own when you had scorned him for it so long ago, you are the abomination!”

“Omnis … incursio…”

Deftly unbuckling her belt, a hand still twisted in his hair, she whips the belt free and wraps it around his face, over his lips, pulls tight till it forces between his teeth and whatever feeble latin attempts he might make are cut off with muffled grunting as she wraps a hand around the leather behind his head. 

Tearing at her own damaged clothing, sliding sweat slick skin against the angel’s vessel, Meg bites her lip as her hold loosens in his hair and she kisses at his nape, crooning in his ear. Sam howls within her, betrayal and hurt, and a tiny glimmering speck of lust that he tries to fold over and hide. 

Castiel gasps, tries to push up, scrabbles at the slick red floor.

Meg has to admit, as much as she feels foreign and stretched out all wrong inside of Sam, the jut of his cock sliding across the pale skin of the angel is a beautiful sight. She wants to hurt him, possess him, defile him, corrupt him, break him utterly and completely. She wants to split him open and make him scream and her cock twitches and leaks at the thoughts. 

Kicking his thighs apart, letting the belt drop, broad hands settling on his hips, she pulls him up as he grunts and struggles weakly. 

“Sam….”

“Not here sugarpop.”

“Sam it’s okay…”

Meg scowls and spits, shoves rough and hard till she breaches his body, breaking his words in half and forcing a stuttering cry that echoes in the wide space. She likes the way this meatsuit feels, strong and certain, hips pumping forward into the tight hot clench of the angel’s vessel, fingers digging in to his hips. 

There’s a primal intuition to it, rutting like animals, the barest hint of suggestion from Sam, harder faster there there more. Mostly he just rages against the boundaries of his body with impotent useless loathing that makes the skin prickle.

She’s supposed to get rid of the angel. No one said she couldn’t have a little fun while she did it.


End file.
